


Grain of Sand

by ALC_Punk



Category: Farscape
Genre: Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-06
Updated: 2009-05-06
Packaged: 2017-11-27 01:08:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/656345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALC_Punk/pseuds/ALC_Punk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aeryn Sun has discovered the art of change, over the years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grain of Sand

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Amilyn in the Femmefic 09 ficathon, from the prompt: Aeryn lost everything she knew and was taught to value because of the rules of that society. I see the entire series as her striping away the layers of those part of herself, figuring out where the rules and the Peacekeepers ended and where she began, learning which rules were truth and which were imposed, learning how to feel and how to be (more) okay with feeling things, getting bitten in the ass (over and over and over) by the feelings she TOLD them (especially John) were dangerous, and pressing on nevertheless. Aeryn's struggles with who she was and is and "ought to be" and wants to be and her fears of each of those steps, and yet pushes on with the determination and strength she learned from the upbringing she is turning away from...I want something that delves into that.

_creation_

There was grace, precision, and a certain sense of style that went into flying a Prowler. Aeryn Sun was good at it, she could make a Prowler do what she needed; flips and turn, dodge and weave, she could manage close quarters with her wingman and stick to her leader's tailpipe like the exhaust she was off-loading.

They had even ranked her in the upper reaches when it came to knowing her spot in formation.

Out in space, with nothing but metal and firepower, there weren't decisions to make or people to worry about. There just were orders, instructions, maneuvers.

Aeryn didn't have time for people when not in her Prowler, though Henta was close enough. Henta, who shared her ideals and her passions, who frequently made her laugh with outrageous and stupid stories. She could understand Henta, could put her in a box and allow that box to stay with her through early training and into the more rigorous moments of her career as first a foot soldier, then a pilot. Getting into the pilot program had made her ecstatic, and it had been everything she had dreamed.

There was nothing like flying. That was why getting assigned as a transport pilot annoyed her so much. Transports were slow and sluggish, and had little purpose. It was grunt-work, and she didn't belong there. The other grunts, the foot soldiers who did this for their careers (as High Command deemed fit), made her certain of how unwelcome she was. Even after she'd met Velorek, taken him to her bed, she could feel that she didn't belong.

Trying to go through channels didn't work--High Command didn't care about the disposition of one lowly Prowler pilot.

She refused to believe that she would be stuck shipping cargo for the rest of her life. Sure, she didn't mind it in the short-term, but it wasn't who she was.

Even the disinterested slaughter of a Pilot didn't change things--she wasn't there to be garbage detail, she was there to fly (though, for a brief moment, a part of her wondered, how Velorek felt--how he could stand the slaughter when he was so gentle with the new one). They were just Pilots and ships, something to order around, certainly a lesser species to Sebaceans. She couldn't find herself worrying about them.

Not the way she ultimately worried about Velorek after he was dragged off, a traitor to his species and oath as an officer.

But it was the special recognition she'd needed to get her assignment back. Reporting to Lieutenant Teague had felt right, sliding back into a Prowler had felt like home (if she'd known what home was, then). And she was assigned to a squadron, with Henta as her leader.

The perfect Peacekeeper pilot, just waiting for that next bit of recognition to earn her promotion. For two cycles, she stayed at the top of her game, stayed in her Prowler and did as she was told. Ignored those infrequent moments when things were off, when there was something different she could have done--it didn't matter, she was Peacekeeper, and this was what she did. The loyalty to High Command was all she needed and the brief exchanges of relief with fellow soldiers were just that--brief and pointless.

She never thought about Velorek after that. Not until a group of escaped prisoners and a primitive man from somewhere else began to change her view of the universe.

_You can be more..._

-=-

_evolution_

"You don't like me, do you."

Aeryn didn't look up for a moment, considering her answer to Jool as she slid the rag around the grip. A sound told her that Jool was impatient, even though it was only a brief microt. She continued moving her fingers and looked up at her, "What makes you say that?"

"You're Sebacean. And ex-Peacekeeper or not..." Jool paused, and something close to the shrug Crichton sometimes employed echoed through her shoulders, "it doesn't take much to notice."

Peacekeeper. The word still held so many connotations to her that were by now almost insulting. Aeryn carefully set the rag down, a pretext for ducking her head and schooling her face again. When she glanced up to open her mouth, Jool's defiant look gave her words more of an edge. "I don't dislike you. Other than that, I still haven't decided."

She didn't take her time to make her allegiances and loyalties, but every new person added to the mix of passengers on Moya still upset the delicate balance--and Pilot didn't seem thrilled to have the Interion woman aboard, but he hadn't liked Aeryn or D'Argo much, either, in the beginning.

Jool shifted again, sounding almost uncertain when she replied, "So, does that mean you could like me?"

"Why does it matter so much?" A question she should know the answer to, from all the times Chiana had followed her or Zhaan or Crichton like a lost child, until she'd found her own equilibrium among them and with D'Argo.

Jool slumped a little, looking almost like a small child caught doing something she really shouldn't. It was a look Aeryn had seen on Chiana more than once, though she'd learned to tolerate it. She resigned herself to a completely pointless digression into an alibi that would eventually be proved wrong. "No one else likes me--not even Pilot."

Not quite what she'd expected. Aeryn carefully repositioned the pieces of her pulse pistol. It would take ten microts to put it back together, and she considered doing so without answering. But that would be cowardice.

"When I first came aboard, no one liked me, either."

Ducking her head, she quickly started sliding pieces together, assembling the pistol for a quick getaway. She didn't know why she'd said something that ridiculously stupid and revealing. Not that she'd wanted anyone to like her, back in the beginning. In fact, she'd preferred their loathing and utter hatred.

"You _were_ a Peacekeeper, Aeryn. I would think that would be obvious," Jool replied, her tone superior, "Also smart thinking on their part. You could have turned them in and gotten the reward."

Instead of feeling insulted, Aeryn found herself almost laughing. Jool was almost adorable with her sense of being better than everyone. She sobered swiftly, thinking of the ways the universe would smack that out of her. Once, though, she'd had just as much pride. Now, she had other, more valuable things: friendship, comradeship, loyalty... perhaps even love. "I couldn't have. Captain Crais would have seen me condemned to death, even then."

"And look at him now--he wouldn't kill you."

"Most likely, no," Aeryn acknowledged. Though what Crais would do to her, and what he wanted, was something she was never entirely certain of. His loyalties had changed; as hers had. Talyn was his world, Moya was hers. And yet he was always trying to encourage her to go with him. Perhaps he simply needed the presence of someone who could talk on his level--he had Talyn for companionship, after all. "He's changed from the man I knew. As have I--" she looked Jool in the eye, "As will you."

Jool made a disagreeable noise, "Are you saying everyone hating me is my own fault? Really, Peacekeeper, I'd thought your brain was better than that."

"I'm not a Peacekeeper anymore, Jool. And yes, perhaps some of it is you." If Jool couldn't change, perhaps it would be best to find her a place that would welcome her. Somewhere far from Moya and her fractious, ever-changing crew. Someplace where the bite of Zhaan's death wasn't too-fresh and lingering. Every time she saw Jool, for an instant she considered how it could have been herself in Zhaan's place--or Jool, come to that.

And every time, it didn't matter. What was done was done.

"Hey, Aeryn?" Chiana stuck her head into the opening of the hatchway, ignoring Jool, "Crichton says we're about ready."

Aeryn shoved her pistol into its holster and stood with a nod, "Thank you, Chiana."

The thought of what might be ahead of her made her spine stiffen a little more. She almost walked too fast past Jool before she paused in the hatchway and looked at her, noticing how small and alone the younger woman seemed for an instant. "You'll find your way."

"I don't need your pity, Aeryn."

"You haven't got it."

The words followed her down the corridor and beyond.

-=-

_genesis_

Pilot's chamber was always going to be comforting to her. Aeryn walked towards him, watching as he carefully spelled out the commands to regulate Moya's pulse. Once, she might have ignored those movements, or taken them as so much pointless fluttering. But with his DNA, with bits of him still trailing through her memories, she understood more than anyone what he was doing and how much Moya required him.

Just like D'Argo required her. She looked down at the wide eyes of her son (her son. That was still something to get used to), and wondered if he carried remnants of Pilot as well.

"Officer Sun."

"Pilot." She smiled at him affectionately, then carefully clambered up onto the supports surrounding his console, "This is D'Argo. D'Argo, this is Pilot."

Alien and half-Sebacean child inspected each other for a moment that seemed to drag on until Pilot shifted, something that might have been half-curious on his face, "He is very small."

"Yes." Holding him up, Aeryn let D'Argo reach out a tiny hand to touch Pilot.

Even at his age, there was a sort of wonder in him as he gazed up at Pilot, careful fingers grazing the shell of Pilot's face.

In all of the cycles that she had spent on and off Leviathans, Aeryn had never suspected the depth of feeling she could have for one, much less that she would share her child with it. If she'd had a child, it would have been sanctioned by High Command, her partner chosen for her. Once born, she would never have seen the child again.

"Pilot--" she swallowed, and then reached out, her own fingers stroking the side of his beak. "You remember once, that journey I said we should go on together?"

He blinked and then replied, his voice soft, "I... do, Aeryn."

Letting the tears fall, understanding that they were a natural process, something to be allowed and not hidden, she smiled at him, "I'm glad you accepted."

"As am I."


End file.
